


The Song of the Thousand and One Scars

by Darian_MacGyver



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Again, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hair Washing, It has Jaskier in it so of course, M/M, Monster of the Week, Not Beta Read, Scars, Shameless Smut, Singing, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slash, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, no beta we die like dyslexic with no friends, there's going to be singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darian_MacGyver/pseuds/Darian_MacGyver
Summary: The most beautiful and memorable song that Jaskier had ever orchestrated, starts with a simple introduction, then it’s followed by a verse with a chorus and finally by the truly exceptional outro.His Wolf surprisingly agrees with him in that assessment, before telling him to finally shut up and go to sleep.AKA: The obligatory bathtub fic, anyone from this fandom has to write at least once.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 671





	The Song of the Thousand and One Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly wrote this out of the need, to try to write about something steamy... and I am not talking about just the bath water. Hopefully you are going to like it too. Could be taken as a part of same verse as my previous fic: The Silent Lark and His Big White Wolf, but could also read standalone as well. Still no Beta, and this time I had real trouble to keep all the tenses straight for some reason.  
> Let me again know what you think, and about any grammar mistakes you will be able to spot and I wasn’t. Thanks

The final bucket of a steaming hot water was poured into a large wooden tub.  
Jaskier used his own rolled up linen sleeve to wipe out condensed moisture mixed with sweat from his forehead.

The air was misting heavily, the steam saturated with a scent of various bath salts and healing herbs, that he had sprinkled generous handfuls of to soak and leach it’s healing abilities into the bath water.

It was way too hot for a normal human, when he had last tested it with just two fingers to not accidentally scald himself, like the last time he had tried.  
But perfectly safe temperature, for an enhanced mutant metabolism of his friend, who always run a little warmer than was average, for the rest of the population of the Continent.

Sleeping right next to him on a bedroll during some of the colder nights of their travels, was like having his own personal, if slightly grumpy, portable heater. 

The bard looked worriedly towards the Witcher that was across the room from him and moving slowly, much slower than he normally would.  
Each movement carefully calculated, so the least number of the muscles had to be used.

The buckles of the black leather studded armor were slippery with remnants of the dead monsters dark oily blood. Refusing to come loose under Geralt’s tired, sword calluses large fingers.  
They had done this, what felt like a thousand times already, the same old song over and over.

The introduction in a form of a title.

The Witcher and his fateful Bard, against the world. 

The verse and the chorus.

Geralt slaying the terrible monster, that had been terrorizing the good people of the country, and Jaskier taking care of him afterwards. Before finally writing ballads about the heroic fight spreading the stories about the famous White Wolf of Rivia the savior of all mankind.

As a final outro.

Adding a stanza or too that they listeners should probably show their gratitude in a monetary way, because a little bit more coin never hurt anyone.

The same humans who clapped to the rhythm of his melodies and that sang along his praises to the White Wolf of Rivia, the greatest Witcher that ever lived, would probably not spit on Geralt if he was on fire, and watched him burn with glee in their eyes and a loud laugh at their lips for the crime of not being human himself.

At least Jaskier had the pleasure using their coin to pamper the said Witcher whenever he could.

A silent slight that none of the bigoted people really knew about, but it still warmed the bards heart with a little bit of satisfaction.

The mysterious cat eyes and silver locks of his beautiful Wolf´s hair were being used by the people as a proof that he was something different, that was set aside from them. 

Something not human, and ergo beneath them.

The situation in reality was, from what Jaskier had seen so far, the other way around. 

There were currently people living all across the Continent and breathing air, that were not fit to even kiss the ground the Witcher had trampled, while fighting with their worst nightmares so they could sit at their homes on their fat silk covered asses and complain how the world would be so much better place without all of the inhuman freaks in it. 

There were of course few notable exceptions that derived from this norm, and worthy more than enough of his White Wolf´s protection, for being truly innocent and good, but they were far and few in between.

Jaskier sighed half annoyed at almost every human being ever, and half at the stubborn Witcher, who still refused to ask for his help even after all these times the bard had done exactly that. Getting his disgustingly filthy armor off his weary White Wolf’s body, so he could finally take the dammed bath, and get himself clean. 

Before going to sleep in a large bed, that was already prepared for him. To lay his weary body, tired from the today’s long and exhausting fight down and rest.

The younger man walked across the room with an annoyed sight, and without even bothering to ask for a permission anymore, he had started to expertly and with a familiarity that he could probably undo the remaining clasps in his sleep, help with opening all the remaining buckles and lacings.

It took them together less than five minutes to free the monster slayer out of his leathery prison.

The armor was set aside so it could be cleaned later. The humid air inside the room fortunately helped with the process as the bard had found out over the years by mostly trial and error on his part. The hot steam kept the congealing blood and pieces of entrails sometimes mixed with a brain matter from drying completely. 

Which meant they could be whipped away, witch less effort, than it would normally take. If he had simply left it outside of the door, like he had used to do before he had figured out this particular trick. The leather more pliant from the moisture also absorbed the oils that were soaked with polishing rags into it, after the cleaning was finished, much better.

Jaskier categorically refused to let anyone else to do it.

Even if he had plenty of a coin at hand to pay someone else to deal with the discussing viscous and smelly substances, that stung to the high heavens and stuck to the naked skin of his artisan fingers like a glue coloring them in various shades of black or brown for days.

The armor was sometimes only thing standing between his Wolf and the certain dead.  
Protecting the flesh from sharp claws, and even sharper teeth during the fights.

A stranger would not pay it such close attention, as he himself did. Only caring about the job being done, and drinking away most of the wage. But not if there was perhaps a hidden damage or a sudden weakness in the material from its constant wear and tear.

Geralt’s shoulders must have been truly bothering him today, since he let Jaskier lift even his black under tunic over his head almost all by himself.

Groaning at the simple motion of having to lift his arms above his head.

There used to be a time when he would not showed such a weakness to be exploited not even in a private. The bard took it as an unprecedented show of a trust from the man that proclaimed whenever he could to the world, that he had ‘needed no one’.

Jaskier carefully guided both strong arms, that were from the look of them at least three times thicker, than his own, out of the dark linen sleeves, checking for hidden injuries during the process.

The tunic and the skin under it both was spared from most of the damage. Only one shoulder smeared with already dried blood of it’s owner. The torn edges of the linen stuck to the now mostly naked skin of the body gave the bard some additional work but it finally come free in the end.

Leaving the other man only in leather trousers, and his wolf pendant hanging low, on his barred wide chest.

And a small clothes under those trousers of course, because only a fool would wear a stiffened armor, made out of thick leather without anything under it around his neither regions.

The Witcher always flicked his hands away when he tried to help with neither of those, no matter how tired or injured he was.  
Jaskier was guessing it had probably something to do with a misplaced pride. 

Because he had seen the man naked more times that he could possibly count.  
They have bathed in a company of each other while following the Witcher’s so called Path. Knowing each other’s body every blemish and curve of the muscles like it was their own.

Maybe even better if you took in consideration that you can’t technically see your own back without use of very large and expensive mirror.

Finally the last layers of the clothes hit the wooden floor of the inn, and half conscious Witcher basically stumbled, towards the general direction of the bath.

The famous predatory elegance of his movements all but drained away, out of him. Leaving the man, with no reserves at all.

Just weary, to the bone.

The sight of it made his bards heart ache.

“Here let me help.” 

Geralt silently clasped Jaskier’s also bare forearm to steady himself as he climbed over the edge of the tall wooden round tub. Sighing loudly with relief as he finally sunk down to the hot water and it surrounded him almost fully. Only tops of his shoulder blades remaining above the level of it.

“A new one for the collection.” The younger man hummed as he carefully traced with just a slightest touch of one of his fingertips the raw ping sealed flesh on top of Gerald’s right shoulder. Already healed over, by the man’s enhanced body. Washing the last traces, of the dried blood, from the surrounding uninjured skin.

It would slowly fade into sort of silvery white color contrasting starkly with the otherwise much darker complexion from being exposed to the sun whenever the weather allowed it.

Making him think of its owner being at least partially secretly a cat but never voicing it out loud since he knew the dark sinister past associated with what that animal implied when spoken about Witchers that graduated from the School of Wolves.

“What’s one more. I look like a monster already, it doesn’t matter.”

“Do not dare to talk like that.” 

“It’s fine little lark. I have been called worse over the years, by others. If not by myself.”

Jaskier slapped the wet skin of the Witcher’s bicep, but only with enough force to barely sting.

“We have both seen real monsters over the years, and some of them would people worship for their outer beauty. Not caring how rotten on the inside they truly were. The humans sometimes being the worst among them. These do not make you a monster, nor make you ugly.” 

“Even your songs can´t change the way I look. Don´t pretend othervise.”

The bard started to wash the skin of the rest of the broad shoulders with a sponge caressing each and every mark in his way just to prove a point.

“I could if I truly wanted to do that, but I don’t have to, you big oaf. Each and every one of those, caries a story. A song, that should be sung by a thousands, by now. They are badges proving your bravery, to anyone who is allowed to see them.”

The Witcher snorted at that but leaned into Jaskiers careful ministrations.  
“More like idiocy, from not being smart to figure out how to move out of the way faster.”

The bard dug his fingers a little bit harder massaging the stiff muscles around the neck, so thick that a prized bull wouldn’t have to be ashamed off it. Getting made a half pained groan of relief, as a reward for his hard work.

“I have seen on several occasions how you earned at least some of those, don’t be ridiculous.”

Jaskier’s fingers slipped lower and caressed a long claw mark that cowered most of the Geralt’s right pectoral, almost cutting the nipple in half barely missing it. Tracing the path the original claws must have taken to create it.

“This one you got when you saved that spinners pretty little golden haired daughter, living near Blatnica. She was barely fifteen years old, at the time. All dimples, long limbs, and coltish feet. I saw her again when we passed the village not even two weeks ago. A woman grown with a babe carried upon her breast. We talked a little bit, while you were dealing with the black smith. She told me she named her little one Gerda. After you. It also means ‘protected one’ if I remember correctly from my studies. A beautiful baby girl, with chubby cheeks and plum belly. She laughed and clapped her tiny hands when I played a song to her about a dancing toad.”

Jaskier saw the corner of the Geralt’s lips lift tiredly up a little at the mental picture he just painted for him.

He fought an impulse to kiss the half hidden smile away with his own lips, and chose instead to bend down and kiss the mark he had just talked about.

“She told me to send you a kiss from them both when I talk to you. Her heroic knight in a shining black leather armor. I thing, I am going to turn it into another song. There is never enough songs with happy endings.”

A loud purr rewarded his gesture before he took the sponge again to continue with the bath.

“Duck your head under the water.” The bard whispered softly not bothering to speak up or even leaning closer to the Witcher’s ear knowing he was able to hear him clearly as a day.

Geralt followed his instruction without hesitating. Long tresses of the hair now completely soaked, framing his face.

Jaskier immediately started washing them with a sage scented bar of a soap and carefully rinsed the suds with a pitcher of clean water, he had prepared earlier for the occasion, so non would get into those golden eyes that almost glowed as the light of the candles illuminating the room reflected in them.

The bard´s fingers caressed the older man´s brow, that barely shoved any sights of ageing, and pretending to remove a wayward strand of silver from it. Continuing the motion towards the top of the head, massaging the scalp, hidden under the rest of the hair. 

There was another scar curling at the nape of the Witcher’s neck. Almost touching the spine. Missing it by barely an inch, maybe even less than that.

“You got this one when you saved the butcher’s family in Posada.  
The Village we have first met in. The harpy settled in the mountains after the Elves left their caves to find a better place to live, like you told them to do. It would have killed both him and his wife as they were trying to get their two small sons to the safety. if you did not jumped in the way of its claws yourself in their stead.”

The other end of the scar almost dissected a jugular that could be now seen slowly thumping under the skin with the Witcher´s every beat of his unnaturally slow heart.

“The wife has probably few more children by now too. I wonder if any of their names start wit a ‘G’. She would probably give you a kiss for every one of them too, if we met with her again. So how can you say that any of those marks are ugly?”

This time Jaskier´s lips touched the mark multiple times.

Starting with the upper edge that if only a little bit longer would severed the spinal column and following the downward spiral towards the pulse point.

At the moment his lips touched the other side of the mark the Witcher all but shuddered and bit his lips to stifle a moan of pleasure that wanted to escape them.  
Jaskier´s own heartbeat picked up. 

His White Wolf had never shown any interest before to share his bed.

Nor any other man they have crossed paths with on their travels for that matter as far as the bard knew. Only ever going for professional female whores, and not more than few times an year at best.

At first Jaskier through the larger man had no further need for the pleasures of the flesh, but living in a close vicinity with each other, quickly disused him from such an assumption.

The walls in the inns separating their rooms, they spend some of their nights at, were usually pretty thin and more than once he had an opportunity to listen to the Witcher as he had pleasured himself.

Usually the frequency of such occasions slowly increased, until finally Geralt went to a local brothel. To spend the whole night there, instead of just few hours, and probably all of his coin as well.

Returning more grumpy in the mornings, that he had ought to, after the night of pleasures under a practiced hands of a seasoned whore, that knew how to satisfied a well paying customer.  
Not daring to touch himself when he could hear half stifled moans and slick slide of the flesh from the other room, because of the Witcher’s superior senses. Jaskier always ended up leaving his lonely bed almost immediately the noises had stopped with a sight signaling the final release, to find a closest willing body, to burry his own need in, while remembering those quite groans and whimpering sights.

Not truly caring about the gender nor their current marital status. Which more than once, got him into a real trouble with the locals. 

Fortunately his grumpy and very scary looking Witcher usually just had to glare a little at them and even most of the angry husbands, fathers or brothers opted to let bygones be bygones. And rather chose not going after him to get their revenge for cuckolding them or stealing in many cases only imagined virtues of their comely sisters or daughters.

Faced with the reality of a mountains of muscles Geralt had called shoulders and arms thicker than most of their tights, standing in their way with the bard carefully tucked behind himself and out of their reach.

Unless they wanted to go toe to toe, with the fabled White Wolf of Rivia himself. 

Most didn’t.

The same scary and deadly dangerous White Wolf, that was all but putty under his own hands right this very moment.

Jaskier decided to take a largest gamble of his adventurous life and started to kiss the skin surrounding the area around the scar as well. Delighted when there were no protests to stop him and the fact that he had found another spot that made the Witcher shudder and grip the sides of the tub so hard his knuckles had whitened and the wood groaned under the sudden strain, not long afterwards.

“So many scars and so many songs hidden behind them, even I won’t be able to sing them all.”

The bards dexterous fingers caressed again the claw mark over the right pectoral, this time not avoiding the pert nipple but taking it between his own callused fingers before finally pinching lightly. Enough to turn the dusky color into much lighter shade for a heartbeat or two, before it darkened back to its original pinkish brown.  
Getting loud approving groan, as a result, much louder than he had ever gotten from a simple massage or the previous caresses.

“Would you like me to thank you too? For saving my life so many times? By now I certainly owe you more than just few simple kisses.” 

The feline like eyes met his own cornflower blue ones, and starred like they wanted to see to the utter depths of his soul. 

To consume it whole. 

The normally thin almost invisible black slits that could be seen in the bright light of the day were blown wide. The pupils dilated into huge round black disks almost taking up the whole space of the entire eye.

The answer Jaskier was seeking clearly visible right in front of him so he stopped hesitating. And bend forward, over the rim of the bath again. 

The Witcher’s lips tasted like a mixture of sage and mint.

The bard dove deeply between the other mans willingly opening lips, to chase after more of the same taste with his tongue. Exploring with it on his way the sharp tips of the long white canines, and roof of the mouth hidden beyond them. Making the Witcher’s wide chest vibrate with a loud groan as he nipped at the lower lip with his own more blunted human teeth before finally finishing their first but hopefully one of many future kisses.

“Let’s get you out of this water so I can count all the songs left etched on your skin for myself with my tongue. Maybe it will help me to sing about them all later.”

The White Wolf stood up without a single word of protest, the rivulets of the water glittering on his now pristinely clean skin in the candlelight like a molten gold and stepped out of the bath. Much steadier than he had climbed into it earlier.

Jaskier took a large cream colored towel and started to rub all the moisture still left on the skin away. Slow circling motions not skipping a single inch of the fully exposed body in front of him. Admiring the curves of the each separate muscle, and intriguing patterns that the slayed monsters left on the skin as a proof or their violent and most probably very bloody demise, leaving the most private parts as a last thing to do. 

By then his Witcher’s excitement caused by his gentle ministrations was truly obvious. Proudly declaring his desire for Jaskier to all of the world to see.

The bard wanted to go on his knees that very moment, and take it as deep as he could into his throat, swallowing it over and over until he had completely ruined his voice for at least all of his next week´s public performances.

He had usually avoided the act, preferring to be able to perform publicly with his lute rather than in more private setting, but there were certain exception made to every rule. All existing rules could be broken if the initiative was suitable enough. 

This case did apply. Oh how it applied.

But this was not only about what he himself had wanted nor needed, tonight’s night would be all about his Wolf needs and trying to make him howl out of pleasure over and over again until he had finally spilled himself, maybe even multiple times. But even if not there was always tomorrow….and the day after, and after.

And it would be much more comfortable for his gorgeous Witcher to be lying down than trying to balance himself while leaning tiredly on the side of the tub as the bard tried his best to suck the man´s brain out with his mouth.

Jaskier choose to lead him towards the bed by his hand instead, letting him lay down comfortably on his back. With his head only slightly raised, by the supporting pillow under it.

His thick pulsing manhood the only thing left truly vertical.

“Let me hear you sing now instead of me for once. I want to hear every single sound you are going to make tonight.”

The bard practically crawled on top of the completely disrobed man, being adorned only by a gleaming silver wolf head medallion hanging on a leather cord around his neck. While himself, still remaining dressed in his, for him quite simple modest light brown breaches and a thin close fitted gray tunic, he usually wore under his heavily decorative and colorful doublets.

Not being shy at all he had immediately started to kiss around the pulsing length surrounded by small crop of silver curly hair that he carded his fingers through, before wrapping them around the blood engorged flesh instead.

Absentmindedly noting how soft the skin of Witcher’s inert tights was under his lips and tongue, he had decided to go straight for his ultimate price.

With one continuous lick from the root to the top where he swirled the drop of the pearly precome that already appeared at the tip, with his tongue, he had swallowed the whole pulsing head in a one go.

Careful, not to scrape his teeth over anything sensitive too harshly, while doing so. 

He had to open his jaw fully to fit it all in. The corners of his lips straining at the gargantuan task, he had took more than willingly upon himself. And hopefully would be allowed to do so again in not so distant future. 

His mouth would be definitely sore by tomorrow morning, but it was a price he had been more than willing to live with. The moan he got as a reward was more than enough to fully refurbish him, and then some, for any discomfort on his part.

Forming an air tight seal, with his now swollen and reddened lips around the tip, before sucking in with all the might of his well trained bardic lungs. It wasn’t an easy task, but he took it on, like he had been paid in gold to professionally compete in it for the whole Continent.

Back at the Oxenfurt Academy, they have been encouraged as a young students, to increase their lung capacity with various exercises to the maximum human capabilities. 

But Jaskier had found over the years that the skill had also more recreational and pleasurable applications, other than simple joy of being able to held a note longer than anyone else.

His lovers had always appreciated his well trained oral skills. 

Both of the genders.

The strong tights that resembled a tree trunks, he was using as a resting place for his hands, quivered and twitched with their owner great effort to stay as still as possible.

Jaskier smirked around his mouth full and lifted his eyes upwards slowly going up from appreciating the well formed abdominal muscles, and finally over the wide chest and strong neck with visibly straining tendons to link them with his Witcher’s.

His shortened blunt fingernails used for strumming a lute not really long enough to truly scratch and mark the skin as much as he truly wanted, burying themselves into the fleshy cheeks of the other mans muscular backside as he moved his hands down simultaneously with his eyes leading upwards to be able to appreciate the resulting reaction fully.

Geralt was staring at him, eyes wide open, like a deer suddenly trapped in a firelight, his own hands clenched into a tight fists scrunching up the bed sheets in them probably tearing and shredding the fibres to a pieces in the process.

Not that Jaskier truly cared about something mundane like that right now. The state of the bedding linens could not be further from his throughs. Not when his strong stoic Wolf was biting his own lips, to avoid moaning out loud. In what seemed to be already half lost battle.

The bard wanted to hear him finally lose his iron control over his well trained body and to perfection honed body so with a mischievous glint in his eyes he had started to hum to both of them very familiar melody.

Geralt half moaned half laughed at vibrations created by the younger man’s humming the chorus of the “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” around the head of his cock. The laugh turning into a full blown moan as Jaskier sung his mouth even lower, the saliva running freely and messily from his lips lubricating the skin he had not yet managed to swallow and opening his throat to let the other man as deep as possible into his willing body. 

Even with all his previous ‘practice’ he had not been able to take the Witcher’s length fully inside, so he had used his hands for the remaining inches of it instead.

Squeezing around the root so thick he had been unable to circumvent it fully with just one hand. It was slackened up with the mixture of a spit and precome by now, and he truly enjoyed how his well lubricated fingers glided over it freely. Massaging the sizable scrotum as well. His index finger finding a very sensitive spot right behind that so he started to circle over it with purpose. 

Geralt suddenly buckled under him, when he had than that, forcing himself much further that the bard was comfortable with, barely stopping himself from gagging and couching.

With eyes watering he slipped most of the massive length back outside his throat only leaving the head in his mouth, gulping the much needed air around it, that was suddenly and unexpectly stolen from his lungs.

Geralt who immediately tried to pull himself away from him started to apologize.  
“I am sorry, so sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you....”

Jaskier took his hands that tried to gently push his head away from servicing the Witcher further, into his own and squeezed reassuringly before sucking on the tip still held inside his mouth once more. Stopping the flood of all the apologies, tumbling out of his Wolf´s lips, one after another, without uttering a single world himself.

Geralt’s hands hesitantly returned to squeezing the life out of the now sweat soaked linen sheets covering the bed under them. And let the bard continue as he pleased, no longer trying to actively stop him.

The taste of the precome was getting stronger, and more heavier in Jaskier´s mouth. Not the normal bitter taste, he had learned to expect, but something little bit sweeter and spicy, that he was not able to quite identify just yet.

It was slightly burning and tingling on his tongue not unlike licking a fresh ginger juice out of your fingers when you finished cutting it to pieces.

The bard couldn’t wait to feel it burning inside his belly, not truly caring about which particular amorous act would accomplish that.

Teasing him with his lips, until he had finally spilled his seed, deep into his stomach through his mouth. Or riding his White Wolf more like a wild stallion instead. While he buckled under Jaskier trying to throw him of, unless he held on with all his might and impaling himself as deep as possible in the process.

As he continued with his ministrations he had made his decision about which option sounded more pleasing to him right now, his right hand started to rummage around, for the jar filled with chamomile oil he had put on the bed earlier.

His previous plans for the evening included a thorough massage of Geralt’s aching shoulders and back but right now he had other more interesting ideas and purpose for it.

He had hummed in triumph when he finally located it, earning himself another loud half growled moan that would suit a wild wolf roaming a forest in the night hunting its prey and dipped up two of his free fingers into the viscous liquid, not truly caring if any of it got onto the bedding or if the rest of it spilled everywhere.

He had used them with a practice born out of long years then, to open himself quickly up. Guiding his hand inside his loosened breached he did not bother to take down even now.

Adding a third finger, and some extra oil for a good measure only few moments later.

He had always preferred when taking someone inside himself stung a little bit and left him more than just a fading memory as a reminder of the previous nights activities in the morning.

But with Geralt there was no question about, if he would be able to feel it later nor for the rest of the week for that matter.

With one last lick he had lifted his mouths for the final time and quickly got rid of his shirt and untied breaches that hung by now half around his own tights not letting him spread them as much as he truly wanted earlier. So he dragged them quickly off together with his small clothes with one single motion.

As soon as he was naked he had sat astride his Witcher, their slick lengths touching one another, as he drew the other man into a dirty kiss, so he would be able to taste himself on Jaskiers lips, before finally maneuvering his body a little bit lower. Letting the Gerald´s aching swollen length drag over his belly slickening it up with the fluids freely leaking out of it.

With a hand griping the thickness of it to steady it, and guide where he had wanted it the most, he had teased his oil slicked opening with the blunt head, until he finally sunk onto the wide tip, letting it inside himself for the first time.

Biting his lower lip at the burn of the ring of the protesting and straining muscle, he tried to relax as much as he could. Pushing onto it slowly, and sinking himself down each ridiculously thick gloriously throbbing inch of it after another.

It took him a long time but he had finally managed to take it all in, feeling the touch of the Geralt’s pubic bone as it made contact with his own body.

His insides were twitching and burning, protesting at their internal displacement. But he did not care about that at all. He had longed for this very feeling almost since their first meeting in Posada. Definitely after the first time he had helped the Witcher with his bath when the man was swallowed whole by a Selkie Maw and forced to cut his way out of it, from the inside getting covered from head to toe by the monsters guts and viscera in the process.

The bard wanted to lift up one of his hands he was using to balance himself atop his Wolf to press it to his belly instead. To see if he could feel it buried inside him from the outside as well. There was no possible way he could not be able to do so. His normally flat belly must have been bulging out, stuffed full. 

Because there just could not be enough free space inside him left, to contain all of ´that´ without any outward signs.

“Jaskier.” Geralt whispered and threw his head back moaning his name over and over again, like it was a sacred hymn to worship some ancient long lost gods.  
It sounded like a most beautiful beginning of an introduction to a song he had ever heard, to his ears, and he was the sole cause of it.

The mighty strong Witcher quivering under his touch and under his smaller body at his utter mercy.

Moaning like a whore paid in gold for the most convincing performance of her professional carrier ever. Singing the sweetes of the all songs that was ever sung under the sun.

The bard would not be able to write a better one, if he had lived to a thousand years.

But he had suddenly longed to hear his other name from those reddened, teeth bitten lips too. The one he had not yet shared with his Wolf.

He had always preferred his professional name over his birth one, that was given to him by his parents. Never really feeling like it was truly suiting his flamboyant persona he had created for himself. But this was one occasion when he wanted to hear, how it sounded from his Witcher. 

He lowered front of his body so now their chest were touching each other over their whole surface.

Several of the scars covering Gerald’s more muscular and defined one, rubbed over the bards sensitive perked up nipples making him moan. Turning his Wolf´s beautiful song into a duet.

The different position also shifted the magnificent length that was buried deeply inside him and now was rubbing fully over that secret place, carefully hidden in his body, that let him see the stars no matter the time of the day when touched just right.

He had kissed the neck scar that had prompted him to go for all this in the first place and bit on the earlobe above it as he whispered into the ear close by.

“Call me Julian.” 

Geralt did not even hesitate for a single heartbeat about the unexpected name change after so many years of knowing each other. Switching from one name to another. Now moaning Julian instead, over and over with an increasing decibels like a repeating chorus of a song that was meant to be sang much louder than the rest of the words, to gain the attention of the crowd.

Jaskier straightened once more into an upward position and carefully lifted his full weight onto his knees pulling himself up.

Thighs burning with the effort of going very slowly, enjoying the friction and an internal burning sensation of their bodies sliding in and out of each other like a two pieces of the same puzzle as well. Finally united, for the first time, since they have been created.

The load throaty moan escaped him against his will as the head of Gerald’s cock rubbed him just right. Not letting him see only simple stars but entire constellations composed out of them. The bard let his weight to pull him back down, impaling himself a little bit further than before, and repeating the process over and over afterwards.

Slowly their pace had increased, their combined pleasure climbing higher and higher. Even after Jaskier´s muscles gave out and were no longer able to lift up his own weight any more so the Witcher held him by his sides, his large hands almost circumventing his whole waist. Lifting him up with his considerable inhuman strength, that have suddenly returned with a full vigor. 

Like the bard weighted less than a single feather. 

Strong callused fingers were digging into his skin almost certainly bruising it in the process. Jaskier could not wait when he could trace them with his own fingers once they had fully appeared the next day. Looking forward to the sweet pain pressing on them would cause him reminding him how he had gotten them inside his mind in vivid details.

The tiredness from earlier that was weighting his Wolf´s shoulders seamed momentarily forgotten, in their combined lustful haze.

Finally the bard felt himself peak and crash over the edge, without Geralt even having to lay a single finger on him to help. His hot seed pulsing one wave after another painting the Witcher´s chest with white ribbons of it, adding his own mark among so many others already decorating the skin there.

Geralt increased his own tempo afterwards. Slamming Jaskier´s and his larger body together, with greater force than ever before. Lifting his hips from the bed, to burry himself deeper and deeper with each upward rough stroke. Trying to bring his completion as well. Driven with a frenzy to mark the body straddling his aching length as his. 

To fill it up, as much as psychically possible.

Jaskier could feel him starting to throb and stiffen even further, as he drove himself faster and faster chasing the sweet release that seemed to be almost at his grasp. 

It was like he was being stabbed over and over with a hot steel sword covered with thin layer of slick silk. Such a sweet agony it was.

Before the Witcher had finally reached what was his desire and lust forcing him to do so, he resembled the Wolf the bard had been calling him for so many years, since they first met, and howled loudly with the pleasure. So loudly and lengthy he could be probably be heard miles away. 

Like a singer holding the last note of the song as long as was humanly possible during the final outro.

A wet heat flooded Jaskier’s insides reminding him of an exploding hot spring, filling him up to the brim, and making his own softening and already spent length twitch in sympathy.

The burn of it several degrees hotter, than from a normal man.

Jaskier quickly realized that he had preferred this feeling over all the other encounters with various strangers during the years, because he was able to tell that part of the Geralt was still left inside him. Marking him forever and burning away a memory of anyone else. Even as his now too, softening manhood, slipped out the bards slick dripping and overflowing opening. Leaving the younger man, still lying on top of him, feeling too empty and open. 

Neither of them not truly being able to move more than few inches, but knowing they would be stuck together in the morning in the most unpleasant way. The bard finally convinced himself to slide off from still heaving larger body onto his side and wipe at least a little bit of the combined mess, they have created and were both smeared with. Using a corner of the bed sheet, to clean them ruggedly up. 

By now it was a lost cause anyway, so few more stains of bodily fluids truly did not matter all that much. Blushing at the feeling of his Wolf´s seed, the movement caused to start to slide more down between his tights, leaking out of him and wetting them even further. Or more specifically at just how much he had secretly enjoyed how it felt.

Well it seemed no matter your age you could always discover something new about yourself. Jaskier was very eagerly looking forward to more such occasions. 

The further thoughts on this particular topic were suddenly interrupted by finding himself being yanked back on the top of his Witcher. So his White Wolf could start nuzzling his face in the bard´s messy hair, while tightening his large arms around him to keep him secure in that position.

The younger man enjoyed the sudden closeness and started to soak it up, wrapping his own arms around Geralt as well, trying to get even closer. Pressing his cheek into the old claw mark, letting it slowly make an impression into his own smooth unmarked skin.

“What a beautiful song we have created tonight, don’t you agree my big White Wolf?”

Jaskier said giddily, his heard still pounding slightly faster inside his chest from all the exercise they just finished doing.

Gerald who had finally looked like he had lost his fight with the suddenly returned tiredness, that originally weighted down his body even before they started all this, just grumbled. He had been exhausted from the several hours long fight with some weird, probably magically created hybrid of manticore and kikimore. Adding one more victory to the still growing saga about the White Wolf´s adventures. 

The said White Wolf after a few more moments finally half opened one of his golden feline eyes, that seemed like it gloved in the total darkness of the room, that Jaskier had not noticed until just now and looked at the bard.

The candles long gone and burned out unable to keep with their several hours long performance that took over half of the night.

“If I agree, will you finally shut up and let me sleep little lark?”  
Instead of verbal answer the bard just laughed and responded with a sweet single kiss before snuggling back closer to the scar on the chest he was lying on previously. 

Listening to the strong beat of the heart more precious to him than the all the songs of the entire world, hidden securely inside it.

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small reminder about English not being my first language, so please take that in consideration when reading my works. Thanks


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